


to love and to cherish

by FullmetalChords



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Eloping, M/M, Miscommunication, Romance, Weddings, World Figure Skating Championships, newlywed bliss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-22 04:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16591112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalChords/pseuds/FullmetalChords
Summary: “Vitya,” and Victor’s knees went liquid at the sound of Yuuri's voice. “I’ve dreamed about being married to you for years. I… I don’t want to wait any longer. Do you?”--Fresh from Yuuri's gold medal at 2017 Worlds, he and Victor make good on their plans to get married. If only they were able to agree on what their wedding is supposed to look like.





	1. il primo

They elope on the night of the banquet after Worlds.

They don’t even bother heading downstairs after the medalists’ gala performances. Victor had tried to explain to Yuuri, for all of five seconds, that they’d be missed if they didn’t at least put in an appearance, that the gold and silver medalist were expected, to some extent, to show up for the banquet honoring their accomplishments.

“Otherwise little Yurio will think the party’s all for him,” he had joked feebly, trying to be the one of the two of them with a clear head, even though Yuuri was so close to him, a hand on his chest, flush from his victory on the ice and smelling absolutely delicious. “And… and people might talk.”

“Let them.” Victor’s mouth had gone dry at that, blown away by the intensity in Yuuri’s dark eyes. And then Yuuri had softened.

“Vitya,” and how Victor’s knees went liquid, “I’ve dreamed about being married to you for years. I… I don’t want to wait any longer. Do you?”

And that had settled that. They’d dashed, hand in hand, to the local registry office three blocks from the hotel, getting there just in time to catch the last clerk before she headed home for the day. And now Victor stands facing Yuuri in a tiny municipal court building in Helsinki, gripping both his hands, both of them still wearing their medals over their warmup sweats. Victor can feel himself smiling so broadly that his cheeks hurt, and Yuuri’s eyes are shining with pure love and devotion, unable to look away.

“Are you ready, Vitya?” Yuuri asks him quietly, and the words are so simple, yet so full of unspoken meaning, that Victor finds his eyes welling up.

“Yes,” he gasps, and hurriedly wipes at one eye as it starts leaking. “God, yes, Yuuri, I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

“Don’t cry,” Yuuri gasps, but his eyes are swimming too. “Now you’ve got me going.”

They laugh watery laughs in stereo, wiping at each other’s faces, and Victor touches the gold medal on Yuuri’s chest, still hardly able to believe any of this is real. He’d never, not for a moment, doubted Yuuri’s ability to win a world championship; but to be really standing here, in a local registry office, with an _extremely_ patient clerk looking on as he and Yuuri cry and hug one another? To know that Yuuri has been aching for this just as badly as he has, during all those months they were training in St. Petersburg?

No. Victor could never have prepared himself for the reality of this.

The ceremony is a blur; the clerk speaks decent English, and Victor clearly remembers both he and Yuuri saying the words “I do,” but the rest is lost in giddiness and love, in the feeling of holding both of Yuuri’s hands, in the revelation that he’ll get to hold these same two hands for the rest of his life. And the next thing he knows, there is champagne — two bottles and chilled flutes stolen from the banquet as they sneak back inside the hotel, heading immediately up to their room to toast this really excellent and not-at-all-impulsive decision.

The night truly becomes a blur after that.

But the morning after…

That, Victor recalls all too clearly.

 

—

 

Yuuri wakes up with a mouth full of cotton, wearing nothing but a gold medal around his neck. For a long moment he forgets where he is, what’s happened, and thinks the medal must be one of Victor’s dozens. It’s not exactly uncommon for drunk!Yuuri to get emotional over one of his fiance’s old routines and take the medal out of storage to sleep with him.

But then he looks over at Victor, sees a glint of silver at his bare throat as he sleeps soundly, and with a flash, Yuuri remembers.

This gold medal is his.

He reaches up, gripping it tightly in one hand, feeling the edges of it dig into his skin, how solid and real it is, this proof that he’s at least somewhat worthy of Victor, after all. He holds it up, studies the engraving in the light, and feels his heart beat loudly in his chest.

He and Victor can get married now.

No, wait… Through the haze of his champagne hangover, a wonderful revelation emerges.

He and Victor are _already married_.

He laughs aloud, giddy from the knowledge that Victor is no longer his fiance, he’s _his husband_ , and he can’t help but scoot across the bed to lay gentle kisses on Victor’s sleeping face, his cheeks, his slack, open mouth. Victor stirs, making slightly grumpy sounds.

“Illegal,” his husband groans in Russian, his eyes still closed, and Yuuri repeats the moniker to himself mentally a few hundred more times. Husband, husband, husband.

Yuuri’s amazement at having his own international gold medal is nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the knowledge that Victor Nikiforov is his, Yuuri’s, forever.

“Husband,” Yuuri coos in English, brushing a finger along the bridge of Victor’s nose, tapping the very end of it. “Wake up, my beautiful husband.”

Victor’s eyes fly open at the word, gaze seeking Yuuri’s face, the gold on his chest; and without hesitation he all but tackles Yuuri onto the bed, his sweet kisses a contrast with the way he clings to Yuuri like a limpet. Not that Yuuri would ever complain. He kisses Victor right back, his limbs winding with Victor’s until it’s difficult to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

It’s a euphoric blur that’s so reminiscent of last night: Yuuri’s hands all over Victor, their legs tangled together, pleasure arcing through Yuuri’s body like lightning. Victor’s medal presses against Yuuri’s bare skin, warm from Victor’s heat, and it’s such a contrast with the coolness of his gold that Yuuri actually moans, clinging to Victor as though he can absorb him into his flesh.

They separate what feels like hours later, breathing hard and glowing from pleasure, and Victor disentangles himself with one last, ardent kiss before shuffling off to the bathroom. Yuuri lies back on their pillows, fanning his face to rid himself of some of the blush in his cheeks, still grinning like an utter loon.

If he had known that being married would feel this wonderful, he would have done it months ago.

“So!” Victor bounces back onto the bed as he returns, still shamelessly naked, beaming at Yuuri. “I was thinking about what we could do for our real wedding. Now, I’ve never been able to decide between a beach wedding and a wedding under the Northern Lights, so you’ll have to be the tiebreaker. Ooh! Do you think we should get wedding bands in addition to our engagement bands, and have Makkachin carry them in on a little pillow?”

Yuuri props himself up on his elbow, frowning slightly in Victor’s direction.

“Um…” He shakes himself. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, yesterday was very nice,” Victor says, his cheeks still colored pink. “But we didn’t really have anyone there to celebrate with us.” Misreading Yuuri’s silence, he adds, “Don’t worry. I know you don’t really want it to be a media circus, so we’ll try to keep it discreet. And I’ll try to dial the theatrics back, but no promises.” He chuckles.

But Yuuri’s frown only deepens.

“Vitya,” he says slowly. “We’re already married. So what do we need to have a wedding for?”

Victor blinks.

“I…” He shuts his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. “Wait… what? You… you don’t want to have a wedding?”

“We already had one,” Yuuri says, still speaking slowly, because it feels like he and Victor are speaking two different languages. “Remember? You were there? I was there? We said the vows? We both cried a lot? And then we came back here, got very drunk on champagne, and I gave you a naked lapdance?”

But Victor looks more and more bewildered with every word out of Yuuri’s mouth, and Yuuri wonders if something is getting lost in translation between them. It’s not an uncommon occurrence, since the language they share is Yuuri’s second and Victor’s third, but there’s never been a misunderstanding quite this fundamental before.

The color has faded from Victor’s cheeks, his smile fading far too quickly for Yuuri’s liking.

“But it was just the two of us there,” Victor repeats. “You…” He pauses, brow furrowing. “You don’t want your family to see? Our friends?”

“What has our wedding got to do with them?” Yuuri frowns, trying to understand what has Victor so worked up. “It’s about us, and starting our life together.” He takes Victor’s hand, limp on the blanket between them. “We can celebrate with them when we get back home,” he tries, thinking that’s what has Victor so put out. “To Hasetsu. We can invite our friends in Russia to come for the week, and Chris and Phichit, and Mama can make katsudon.” He offers Victor a smile. “Since we won in more ways than one.”

Victor is frowning slightly, looking off into the distance. His expression has become serious, closed-off.

“That does sound nice,” he says, tone somewhat measured.

“And we can get dressed up,” Yuuri offers. “Take some nice pictures by the seaside. I’ll hire a good photographer with my winnings from Worlds.”

He still has his medal hanging around his neck, the gold catching the light coming through the window, and he sees Victor glance at it. A small smile curves his lips, breaking through the apparent fugue he’s suddenly fallen into.

“Our winnings now,” he says, picking up the medal by the cord. “Now that we’re married, I get half of everything you make. And vice versa.”

Yuuri watches Victor lay yet another kiss on his gold medal, smiling at the sight.

“Does that fall under the umbrella of ‘coaching fees’?” he teases before brushing Victor’s hand aside so the medal lies flat on his bare chest again. He envelops Victor in his arms, holding him close, because he senses that his answer has made Victor a little upset, though he isn’t sure why. And he doesn’t want Victor to be upset, not now when they’re both so happy.

“Hey,” he says, running his palms down Victor’s back. “Shower with me, Mr. Katsuki?”

Victor makes a little squeaky sound at that, winding his arms around Yuuri’s waist and burying his face in Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Victor Katsuki?” he repeats, and clings a little tighter. “Can you be Yuuri Nikiforov?” Yuuri’s heart pounds, hearing his idol speak the name he used to doodle all over his notebooks when he was fourteen, in English and katakana and Cyrillic. “Or are we hyphenating?” Victor says, leaning up to press a series of kisses against Yuuri’s cheek. “We never really talked about what we were doing.”

And Yuuri would love to continue this conversation, but his body is so close to Victor’s, his husband’s hands drifting to his bare ass, a knee pressed against his inner thigh, and it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the mental image of Victor’s skin all over his, wet and slick and warm as they scrub and tease each other.

“A-are we showering together or not?”

Yuuri’s question ends in a squeal as Victor picks him up, bridal-style.

“As you wish, my husband,” he says, and Yuuri gives a shriek of laughter as his husband whisks him away into the bathroom.

 

—

 

Really, Victor thinks to himself a few hours later, it’s silly for him to be this upset.

He’s alone on the streets of Helsinki, heading for the nearest newsstand so he can try and find some kind of English-language paper with a podium picture from Worlds in it, but his head is a million miles away, still thinking about weddings. He and Yuuri had never really talked about their wedding in the months between their engagement and Worlds. When they had, it had mostly been in the abstract; usually when Victor had wanted to motivate Yuuri, reminding him of their pre-Grand Prix vow to get married after Yuuri won gold.

(Not that their getting married was at all dependent on Yuuri winning any kind of medal. Yuuri could have quit skating to become a janitor at their rink, and Victor would still have wanted to marry him.)

So they’d talked a little about wedding plans, albeit mostly about what song to have their first dance to — which they’d never come to a consensus on, since there were too many good choices. And Victor had known all along that Yuuri hadn’t wanted a big wedding, that he didn’t want people to make a big fuss.

But this… this seems like the opposite of a fuss.

Victor closes his eyes, mentally poring over every detail he can remember from what had ended up being their wedding day.

He and Yuuri had woken up in each other’s arms, he remembers — they’d woken up late, tired from competing the night before and from celebrating together, alone, well into the middle of the night. They’d then spent most of the day warming up and preparing to skate their Duetto, trying to persuade the ISU to let them skate it twice (once for Victor’s silver, once for Yuuri’s gold). And then, quickly changing out of their costumes back into their warmup gear, grabbing their medals for luck, racing from the hotel to the registry office…

He remembers the registry office’s carpet had been ugly and worn, that the room had smelled faintly of stewed cabbage from the clerk’s lunch. He remembers vaguely thinking that he and Yuuri should have kept their Duetto costumes on, so that he might be wearing something a little nicer than his burgundy Nike shirt and his oldest pair of sneakers to his own wedding.

Victor doesn’t mind that the marriage ceremony had been so spontaneous. Really, that had been the best part, that Yuuri had surprised him with his eagerness to marry Victor on the spot. So much of Victor’s career has been built on surprising others that it’s rare for _him_ to be surprised by much of anything anymore. Yuuri may seem quiet, but he always finds some way to blow Victor away with his thoughtfulness, with his determination, with the subtle ways he expresses his love. He wouldn’t say, not for one minute, that he regrets marrying Katsuki Yuuri here, in Helsinki, in a dingy room that smelled like cabbage. Nor would he ever regret making such a big commitment to another person so suddenly (some might say “rashly”). Even if he and Yuuri hadn’t already promised to one day get married, Victor had been prepared, on some level, to spend the rest of his life with Katsuki Yuuri ever since that night in Sochi when Yuuri had caught him around the waist, pulling him into a playful paso doble.

So, no. All things considered, Victor has no regrets.

But still… Victor wishes, just a little, that there had been more time to do _something_. That they’d gotten flowers, that he or Yuuri had thought to put on a suit. Hell, that they’d gone down the hall to grab Chris or Phichit or even that Canadian guy to bear witness to it all. Or, he thinks ruefully, if he and Yuuri hadn’t been so eager to be alone, perhaps they could have stopped by the ISU banquet and commandeered it as some kind of impromptu reception.

Yuuri’s idea of celebrating in Hasetsu does sound nice, he has to admit. But, Victor muses, it’s something they would have been doing anyway, after their performances at Worlds. Sandwiching in a celebration of his marriage to Yuuri feels, almost painfully, like an afterthought, secondary to their professional achievements.

Ah, well. Victor sighs, holds his hand out in front of him, looks at the glint of gold on his fourth finger to calm himself.

Marriage is all about compromises, after all.

 

—

 

“What the _fuck_ , Katsudon?!”

“Uh…”

Katsuki blinks stupidly at him, curling his hands around his latte as he sits with Yuri in a cafe near their hotel. Yuri snarls at him.

“You _married_ Victor last night? And didn’t think to tell any of us?”

“I’m telling you now,” Katsuki says, looking bewildered. “Why are you so upset? Did… did you want to come?”

“If you didn’t want me there, that’s your business,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes even if the thought does sting a little. “I… whatever. It’s fine. That’s not the point. I can see Victor dragging you off to elope in some kind of whirlwind romantic _whatever_ , but I can’t believe you didn’t think to slow him down a little. I thought that was your _job_.”

“Oh, no,” Katsuki says, and smiles into his coffee. “No, it was actually my idea.”

Yuri raises both eyebrows at him.

“Again,” he says, “what the fuck.”

He slumps in his seat, knocking back his hot tea. This godforsaken cafe hadn’t provided jam to sweeten his tea, so he’d used half a bearful of honey instead. The taste is almost sickening, but anything to drown out the taste of English breakfast.

“Well, whatever,” Yuri snorts. “I guess it’s your life. Now, let’s circle back to this ‘civil ceremony, no reception’ bullshit. Victor was cool with that?”

Katsuki shrugs. “Sure he is. Why wouldn’t he be?”

Yuri’s eyebrows crawl even further up his forehead, and he sets down his mug of tea with a thunk and a splash.

“Katsudon,” he says, “you had better be fucking with me right now.”

He blinks. “Uh…”

Yuri splutters. “Katsuki!” He brings both palms down on the table. “Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me you haven’t seen that scrapbook of his!”

It’s in a prominent place on the bookshelf in their apartment back in St. Petersburg: a thick white binder that says “On my love” on the spine in Cyrillic. It had only shown up after Victor had moved back to Russia; every time Yuri has gone to visit their apartment, the binder has grown more and more full. It’s a little nauseating, but — he has to admit — it had been nice to see Victor genuinely happy about anything, after watching him be an untouchable god for years.

“I-I don’t…” Katsuki shakes his head after Yuri has told him this. “I can’t read Russian very well, and I don’t really poke through his stuff, so I haven’t…”

“Oh my god, Katsuki.” Yuri’s head actually falls into his hands. “You moron.”

“Hey!” Katsuki sounds affronted. “Look, Yura… so, I admit, I didn’t know that this was such a big deal to Victor. But he and I talked, you know, after, and we’re celebrating with my family in Hasetsu next month.” He gives Yuri a little smile. “You’re invited too, by the way. So, maybe I didn’t get it 100% right, but it’s a good compromise. And marriage is all about compromises.”

Now, Yuri’s never been married, or even seen a good marriage at any time in his life. But he knows bullshit from a mile away when he sees it.

“Sure,” he says, irritated. “But this isn’t a compromise, dumbass. This is just you getting your way and not listening to Victor when he tries to tell you what he wants.”

He watches as his words fall on Katsuki’s ears like a ton of bricks, the smile dropping right off his face to be replaced by a look of horror. Yuri picks his drink back up, sipping at the cold dregs that are left.

“Oh, no,” Katsuki whispers.

“Yeah,” says Yuri, feeling satisfied in spite of himself. “Great way to start off your marriage, genius.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Katsuki says, louder. “I… I have to fix this. What…” He looks at Yuri, desperate. “What do I do?”

“Why are you asking me?” Yuri is indignant. “I’m sixteen. I don’t know shit. You’re the adult here, so fucking act like it, Katsudon.”

“You’re right,” Katsuki murmurs to himself, nodding absently. “You… you’re right. Okay.” He stands up rapidly, the seat rocking back on its hind legs. “I have to go. You, uh, you can finish my latte. I don’t want it anymore.”

And with that, he dashes off, tossing a few Euros on the table.

Yuri looks with distaste at the half-finished drink, Katsuki’s lip stains visible on the cup. “…I don’t really want it either.”

 

—

 

In truth, weddings have always made Yuuri anxious.

That anxiety didn’t come at all over the thought of being married. Marriage in itself — specifically being married to Victor Nikiforov — has been a central feature of his daydreams since he was fourteen. He and Victor have already been living together for months, learning the ins and outs of one another, being domestic and working through arguments and making love… and the knowledge that Yuuri has this now, forever? That he and Victor can buy a house together, adopt more dogs together, grow old together? It’s surreal in the best kind of way to know that this is the life Yuuri has.

But a wedding… That had always felt like something of a necessary evil.

Part of it is the thought of standing in front of everyone he knows and explaining — justifying — what he feels for Victor; the press conference last fall may have been a more public venue, but there, his immediate audience had been strangers. No one who would laugh at him or hold his words against him later. And then everything else about weddings… wearing an uncomfortable suit all day, listening to his sister give an embarrassing toast about all his Victor posters, hundreds of people staring at him while Victor smears cake all over his face…? Whenever Victor had tried to talk wedding plans with him, those were the things Yuuri tended to picture, and so he would try to change the subject, or to refocus on his training instead. To forget the mental image of himself having a panic attack on the altar while Victor stared helplessly down at him.

So simply getting it over with here, in Helsinki, in a brief civil ceremony where no one knew them? It’s the closest thing to skipping their wedding altogether, sparing Yuuri the lion’s share of wedding-related anxiety. He’d thought it was an ideal solution. He had even mentally congratulated himself on his ability to problem-solve.

Yuuri is a _fool_.

He should have realized much, much sooner that Victor would be unhappy. Never mind that Victor had been robbed of a chance to make a statement, something he loves doing; Victor’s always the one to express his love in over-the-top ways, even when it’s just the two of them. Yuuri might not have known about Victor’s wedding scrapbook, but that’s almost irrelevant. He’s _always_ known that Victor is exactly the kind of person who would have been dreaming of his wedding day since he was a little boy. It poisons Yuuri’s fond memories of their wedding to realize that on that day, as Yuuri got exactly what he’d wanted, he was irreparably taking something away from the person he loves best in the world. He may not have intended it that way, and he doubts Victor would ever phrase it quite like that, but now, as he looks back, it’s all too obvious what he’s done.

He has to fix this. Now.

And so, as Victor sleeps next to him late that night in their hotel room, Yuuri is on his laptop in bed, blue light flooding his face as he works in the darkened room. If he’d been focused in the leadup to Worlds, it has nothing on the fervor he feels now as he plots to make things right with his husband.

He has a marriage to save.

 

~~~

 

tbc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~let's just say I was really inspired by a certain recent episode of a broadcast television musical comedy and leave it at that~~
> 
> This fic is already mostly completed, save the coda; look for the thrilling conclusion on Friday of this week!
> 
> Comment to save a writer's life ♥


	2. il secondo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they try again.

Even before their elopement, they’d planned to take a little vacation together after Worlds.

Helsinki was so close to St. Petersburg, after all, that it seemed a shame to rush straight home. And so even before coming to Worlds, Victor and Yuuri had planned a weekend getaway to the far north of Finland, where snow was as thick on the ground in late March as it was in mid-December. And the Snow Village near Kittila, Victor has to admit, isn’t done any sort of justice by its sparsely populated tourism website.

The complex has over a dozen buildings completely built of ice and snow: a small hotel which connects numerous igloo-like rooms to a permanent lobby; a restaurant where tables and chairs are all carved from large blocks of ice; a bar where everything from the seats to the glasses are solid ice; several ice saunas, which Victor needs to try immediately just to know how the hell it works; and, tucked away at the end of the complex, a small chapel that, from the outside, looks like little more than a large mound of snow.

As soon as they’d gotten there, Victor had tried to negotiate their way into taking the honeymoon suite; it was featured on their website with beautiful wall carvings of snowflakes and figures from Lappish folklore, the entire bed intricately carved from ice and draped in soft furs, and Victor had fallen in love with it immediately. But, as the concierge sadly informed him, the suite had already been booked for the whole weekend.

(“It’s okay,” Yuuri had told him, patting his arm. “We’ve still got our cabin, with an actual bed in it. That’ll be more comfortable anyway. Or were you that set on getting fucked on a giant ice block?”

“It’s only one of my top three fantasies, Yuuri!”)

But Yuuri’s right. Their rustic cabin (permanent and made of wood rather than ice) is snug, but comfortable, and Victor is all set to relax with his new husband in relative privacy, enjoying an impromptu honeymoon of sorts before returning home to Russia for the off-season.

Or at least, they would have been relaxing. But apparently, Victor’s coach has other plans.

“Meet me in town tomorrow morning,” Yakov informs Victor the second he picks up the phone, not even greeting his student. “I’ve found a space for us there. You and I have a lot of work to do, Vitya.”

Sitting on the couch in his cozy winter cabin in front of a roaring fire, his toes clad in warm woolen socks, Victor can’t help but groan.

“Seriously?” he asks his coach. “Yakov, the season just ended. Aren’t I entitled to take a little time off?”

There is a crackling of air over the line; Yakov has snorted derisively.

“A little time off,” he repeats coldly. “Did you not take enough time off last season, Vitya? Have you not had your fill of vacation yet?”

“That wasn’t a vacation!” Victor says, sitting upright in indignation; he is alone in the cabin, but can’t help but feel defensive. “I became a coach! It’s… it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. And my student is the world’s top skater right now, thank you very much. So we’ve earned—”

“Your student has, yes,” Yakov interrupts, disdainfully. “But you, Vitya? What have _you_  earned? How much credit, exactly, are you taking for Katsuki’s victory?”

Victor doesn’t think Yakov could have hurt him more if he’d actually reached through the phone and slapped him.

Then again, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Even when he was young, Yakov had never been satisfied with silver. To his coach, second place was no better than coming in dead last.

 _You’re too talented, Vitya,_  he remembers hearing throughout his youth, over and over and over, whenever he’d ended up anywhere but in the middle of the podium. _There’s no excuse for letting others surpass you. Do you hear me?_

“Sir,” Victor starts, his voice feeble, but Yakov has apparently had enough.

“I’m texting you an address to meet me at tomorrow,” Yakov continues, as impassive as ever. “Be there. 10 am, sharp.”

Victor swallows, pulls the mask back on.

“Fine,” he manages. There is a click on the line that suggests Yakov has hung up on him, and he, too, disconnects. His phone trembles in his hand, held so tightly that it’s in danger of shattering.

“Vitya?”

There is a rush of cold air from the foyer, Yuuri holding two fresh logs for the fire in his arms. He is looking at Victor in concern, not having heard any of the conversation.

“Hi, Yuuri,” Victor says smoothly, offering a tense smile before unlocking his phone again, scrolling aimlessly through apps, trying to hide from Yuuri how upset he is. “Missed you.”

There is a gentle touch at his arm, Yuuri kneeling at his side, and when Victor looks up, he can see concern on his fiance’s face. No— his husband’s face. The novelty of their new relationship status means that Victor keeps forgetting and remembering all over again, like a pleasant little jolt to his system. Honestly, any lingering disappointment over their hasty marriage ceremony has all but vanished in the face of the truth that he and Yuuri will be spending their lives together now.

“What happened?” Yuuri asks quietly. “Who were you talking to?”

“Oh, it was just Yakov,” Victor says, trying to appear breezy. “He wants me to practice in town tomorrow morning.”

He blows some air out of the side of his mouth, making his bangs flutter. Yuuri’s eyes widen.

“But… Worlds was three days ago. The season’s over.”

“Oh, I know,” Victor says, and can’t help a bitter edge from creeping into his voice. “But you see, I only won silver for Russia, so I’ve disgraced the whole country and need to start making up for it immediately.”

The smile he gives Yuuri is sharp as a dagger. That had been the subtext to Yakov’s call, even if his coach hadn’t said it directly. Victor thinks of his silver medal, tucked away safely in his suitcase. Thinks of everything it represents for himself: an ability to keep up with his competitors, even as his time with figure skating grows shorter. The fact that he can finally let go of perfection and be content with second place, something he never would have allowed for himself earlier in his career. And Victor thinks of the gold medals he keeps tucked away in a drawer back home, how the pile had grown and grown over the years and only ever made him feel empty, cold, weighed down.

Even if Yuuri hadn’t won gold and changed his whole life, again, the silver medal Victor had won in Helsinki means more to him than any of the gold ones ever had.

“That isn’t true,” Yuuri says, and meets Victor’s eyes with a fierce expression. “Vitya. You… you don’t actually believe you’re a disgrace because I beat you, do you?”

Victor realizes what a scary expression his face must be making right now, and he lets himself relax.

“Of course not,” he says easily. He remembers Yuuri at Worlds, sobbing with elation as he’d realized Victor won silver, how tightly he’d held him when the scores had come to the kiss and cry. He remembers Yuuri looking down at him with pride as they’d both stood atop the podium, hand in hand, and the words he’d said after the officials had placed the medal around Victor’s neck.

_It’s beautiful, Vitya. I think silver really suits you._

He doesn’t know if he can express how vital it is to have Yuuri’s words replacing Yakov’s in his mind.

“I’m sorry, zolotse,” he says, and kisses Yuuri’s knuckles. “I shouldn’t let him get under my skin like this.”

“You’ve been with him a long time,” Yuuri says, squeezing Victor’s hand. “But he doesn’t know everything you’ve been through this year. Maybe… maybe tomorrow, you should do what he says and meet him out there. Not to practice, but to talk things over with him.”

Victor turns this over in his head.

“You’re right,” he eventually decides. “Tomorrow, I’m going to march into that rink and explain it to his face.” The sentence ends in a snarl, even though he doesn’t mean for it to.

“Oh-kay,” Yuuri says, and pats Victor’s cheek, bemused. Yuuri’s own cheeks are rosy from the cold, his husband still bundled up in a thick parka and hat, and it’s an utterly adorable look on him.

“You were gone a while,” Victor remarks, taking Yuuri’s hand and peeling off his thick skiing gloves so he can rub warmth back into his skin. “Did you go meet the reindeer without me?”

Snow Village is too far north for skiing or outdoor skating or most usual winter activities, but the hotel does keep live reindeer and offer husky safaris (which Victor and Yuuri had immediately declined, both still traumatized after watching that documentary about the Iditarod). Still, the landscape is picturesque, and the hotel itself so unique, that it had felt a fitting place to celebrate the end of their first season together, to simply relax, snuggle by the fire and watch the snow fall, as they’d been too busy to do for most of the winter.

“Mm,” Yuuri says, taking off his ushanka and dusting the snow off the top. His hair is sticking up after its time under the thick furry hat, little cowlicks framing Yuuri’s face, and it’s more endearing than it should be. “No, I was just… trying to borrow a snowmobile to try and get into town so we could make dinner here for ourselves. It’s only been six hours and I’m already sick of the elk in the hotel restaurant.”

Victor rests his chin on his hand, carefully studying Yuuri. Yuuri notices, and snorts.

“What are you thinking about?”

Victor’s mouth curves upward. “You,” he says honestly. “Whisking me away on the back of your snowmobile so we can explore this Arctic tundra together. Cowlicks and all.”

Yuuri chuckles, crawling halfway into Victor’s lap, holding Victor’s face in his cold hands.

“Let me guess,” he teases, nuzzling Victor’s nose with his. The tip of it is icy from his time outside, and the cold sends a not-unpleasant shiver down Victor’s spine. “A handsome stranger stealing you away is your _fourth_ -biggest fantasy, isn’t it?”

“The first, actually,” Victor breathes. His arms find their way around Yuuri, where they belong, worming under the thick down parka he’s still wearing. “Mm,” he hums, and kisses Yuuri’s mouth to warm it. “Take me away, Mr. Nikiforov.” He pauses. “Nikiforov-san? Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki?”

Yuuri exhales as they kiss, a little huff of warm breath to take away the sting of his chilled skin.

“Katsuki-Nikiforov,” he murmurs before kissing Victor again, and Victor gets lost in him like that, peeling away his thick winter layers so he can pull Yuuri close, wriggle his way underneath him.

They never do make it into town that evening.

 

—

 

Yuuri has gone to breakfast in the lodge by the time Victor wakes up the following morning, and Victor, tragically, has no time to follow him. He has just enough time to throw on his workout clothes under his thick parka and snow pants before boarding a snowmobile, alone, to ride it into Kittila toward the address Yakov had texted him. The whole ride over, he thinks over their brief phone conversation, the way Yakov fails to understand how much stronger he is after his time off, the way he still belittles Victor as a coach… and by he arrives, he isn’t sure whether he’ll be breaking down in tears or physically lashing out at Yakov.  
  
He pulls the snowmobile to a stop in front of a wooden structure marked by a sign in Finnish that he can’t read, dismounts, and bursts through the front doors.

“Yakov!” he says, looking around for his coach. “You and I need to have a little…”

He pauses for a moment, taking in their surroundings.

He isn’t in an ice rink at all.

It looks to be some sort of multipurpose room, perhaps a community center or dance hall, with no artificial ice in sight. For a moment, Victor has to wonder if his phone has sent him wrong directions. But no— there is Yakov, standing in the center of the large room, arms crossed as he looks at Victor expectantly.

“…chat,” Victor finishes in a murmur, before squaring his shoulders again, marching toward Yakov. “Yakov, what you said yesterday was completely out of line. I’m… I’m sorry for not being the champion you raised anymore. But I’m happy now, being Yuuri’s coach, skating with him, letting him inspire me. And you…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Yakov says, waving away Victor’s words with one gloved hand. “You are much happier now. I know. You really think I haven’t noticed? Now if you’d only let Katsuki fix your step sequences, too, you might stand a chance of beating your own student.”

“I—” Victor pauses, gaping for a moment at Yakov. “H-huh?” he finishes eloquently.

Yakov sighs.

“I was too harsh to you yesterday, Vitya,” he admits. “In truth, your performance this season has been nothing short of remarkable, given how little time we had to train together. But more than that, your happiness…” He pauses, seeming close to displaying some sort of emotion. “It has been… good, to see you happy once more. I don’t think I’ve seen you like this since you were a child. Katsuki… he has made you yourself again, I think, in a way you have not been for a long time. Last year, I was angry that you left without consulting me, but… but seeing you now, I can understand why you did.”

Victor is speechless. Never, not in all the years he’s trained with Yakov, has his coach ever apologized for being too harsh. Nor has he ever spoken particularly kindly to him — at least not on purpose. Victor has no idea how to handle it; and looking at Yakov, it appears that neither does he.

“If… if that’s how you really feel,” Victor says slowly, “then why…?”

He stops, taking in their surroundings once more. The dim, large, unfamiliar room, a blank slate of sorts, set up for some sort of gathering.

“We aren’t even at a rink,” Victor muses, partly to himself. “Did… Yakov, why are we _here_?”

Yakov grunts, evidently embarrassed by his earlier display of emotion.

“I already told you, Vitya.” He reaches behind him, picking up a black garment bag that he’d draped over the back of a chair. “We have a lot of work to do.”

He unzips the garment bag, and Victor can’t help but gasp at what’s inside, pressing his hands together in front of his mouth.

Of all the things he’d expected when coming here this morning, this had been the absolute last.

“That’s…” He looks at Yakov, trying to see if this is a joke. “I-is that a tux?”

Yakov grunts again, nodding. “Specially made, apparently. Don’t know how your husband pulled it off so quickly.”

Husband.

With trembling hands, he takes the hanger from Yakov, pushing off the black vinyl cover so he can get a closer look at what’s inside. It’s not quite a carbon copy of his Duetto costume, but it’s close: black trousers and button-up shirt, a rose-colored tailcoat that has silver braid sewn along the shoulders, loops of silver cord decorating the left shoulder and acting as the fastener.

Seeing what Yuuri has left for him, slowly realizing what it must mean… Victor is doing his best not to cry, and failing miserably.

“F-for me?” he says, dumbly, reaching out to stroke the jacket to confirm it’s real.

“Of course it’s for you,” Yakov says, his annoyed tone not enough to hide the twinkle in his eye. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Vitya.”

“And don’t start crying yet, either,” says a silky voice from the doorway. “You’ll make my job that much harder.”

Victor whirls on the spot.

_“Chris?”_

Chris chuckles.

“Hello, cherie,” he purrs, crossing the room and kissing the air over Victor’s cheeks. “And _félicitations_! I never got a chance to say, before.”

“Wh…?” Victor feels like he’s skating over new ice, flying over the surface too fast to register his surroundings. “What are you…? How…?” He shakes himself. “You said you were going to Marseilles when the season ended! How on earth are you here?”

Chris only chuckles. “Your Yuuri is quite the schemer,” he says, cryptically, before fishing in his duffel for a massive cosmetics bag, which he shakes under Victor’s nose. “He got me to leave a nude beach with my schatzi to come all the way up here, to the North Pole, just to make sure you look pretty.” He winks. “So don’t go making your eyes all puffy before I start.”

Victor looks around, taking in the details of the dim room they’re in. It hasn’t been decorated, but there are a number of round tables set up throughout the room, a small space cleared toward the front for some kind of dance floor.

“H-here?” he stammers, his voice small, still afraid to voice his suspicions.

“We’re sworn to secrecy,” Chris says cheerfully, before giving him a little shove in the small of his back, toward the restrooms. “Now come on, get dressed. Yuuri’s waiting.”

 

—

 

There is one thought in the back of Victor’s mind as he gets dressed. One thought, circling round and round his head as Chris blows his hair dry with a round brush, as he puts hints of golden glitter on Victor’s cheeks and clear gloss on his lips. That thought is this:

Yuuri will never, ever, stop surprising Victor, not for as long as he lives.

The realization shouldn’t feel like such a shock to his system. After all, Yuuri has been amazing Victor every day since they met. Hell, he’s already surprised him with a marriage ceremony once this week. But Chris and Yakov escort Victor, now dolled up and ready for whatever Yuuri has in store for him, back to the Snow Village, stopping their vehicle in front of a large snow mound at the complex’s edge, and Victor has another, far more crucial, revelation.

No matter what Yuuri has in store for him, Victor will always welcome it with open arms.

Chris and Yakov push open the doors to the ice chapel — a wooden frame that’s been recessed into the snowy walls — and Victor ducks slightly as he enters, looking down the vestibule into the main area of the chapel.

The inside is nothing at all like the outside, plain and nondescript in the midst of a snowy landscape. The inside… the inside is nothing short of magical.

Every surface inside the chapel glitters, the natural crystals of the ice and snow inside capturing every bit of light and refracting it a hundred times over until the whole room seems to glow from the inside. There are candles everywhere too, tapers set inside mason jars and set along the edges of the aisle, lighting his path to the altar, heightening the intimate, romantic feeling of the setting. Intricate patterns decorate the chapel’s icy walls, carved there by artisans, subtle hearts and flourishes and recesses and, at the end of the aisle, an archway frames a solid ice dais, completed with a single sculpted rose blooming in the center of the wall. And, most remarkable of all, there isn’t a lick of real furniture in the room. Instead, everything from the benches people sit on to a pedestal holding a spray of real flowers to the altar itself have been carved from solid ice.

It feels as though this place has been conjured from a fantasy, rather than constructed by human hands.

And at the end of the altar… Yuuri is waiting for him, beneath a chuppah that, too, has been carved from ice. He is looking back at Victor, smiling somewhat nervously, his hands clasped before him, wearing a royal blue twin of the outfit that he’d had made for Victor.

The message he’s sending Victor is unmistakable.

“Come on now, Vitya,” he hears Yakov grunt behind him, and paws at the front of the thick coat Victor had worn on the way here. “Get that coat off. Don’t keep him waiting.”

With fumbling fingers, Victor does so, removing hat and scarf and gloves, brushing his hair back into place with his fingers, trading his heavy snowboots for a shiny pair of black dress shoes that Yakov seems to have summoned from nowhere. And when he’s done, shivering slightly from cold and nerves, Yakov stands at his side, offering his arm.

“I realize this is, traditionally, a father’s job,” he starts, gruff, when Victor hesitates.

“You’re right,” Victor says, and links his arm through Yakov’s, holding on firmly. “It is.”

For all their difficulties, all their arguments, Yakov is the only father Victor has ever known. It only feels right to have him be involved in so important a way.

They begin to walk down the aisle. Victor is vaguely aware of some kind of music playing, some string quartet rendition of Pachelbel’s Canon, but his focus centers, laser-like, on the man waiting beneath the chuppah for him, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold air. And how familiar is this feeling, of Yuuri demonstrating his deep, lasting love for Victor as they both shiver in the cold? But the usual austerity of an ice rink cannot compare to this, this mystical ice chapel that celebrates the hard, inflexible material that brought him and his love together.

All too quickly he and Yakov reach the end of the aisle, and Yakov releases him before heading to sit on one of the benches, pulling a heavy blanket over his lap that he shares with Celestino. Victor chances a look at the crowd that has gathered, and not only does he see Chris and Yakov, but Phichit, Lilia, Yurio and Otabek, Georgi and Mila, a few other trainers and skaters they’ve become friendly with during their time in St. Petersburg. And on the other side of the aisle, Victor sees Yuuri’s parents, Mari, the Nishigoris, and Minako, who is already openly sobbing, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth as she leans against Hiroko for support.

They’d all been in Helsinki, either to compete or to cheer Victor and Yuuri on. But still, how on earth did Yuuri manage to get them all up here on such short notice?

Yuuri… Victor turns now to look fully at his husband.

Yuuri is resplendent in his blue tailcoat. It’s just like Victor’s, embellished with silver braid and cord; his hair is slicked back with some sort of pomade that smells delicious, much more so than what he usually uses for competitions. He’s even wearing a bit of makeup similar to what Victor has on: a hint of eyeliner to accentuate those beautiful dark lashes of his, subtle hints of gold glitter around his eyes and on the apples of his cheeks. It makes his husband look like a fairy prince, made all the more acute by the fact that Yuuri is smiling at him gently, benevolently.

Yuuri has always taken Victor’s breath away.

From the very first time he saw him skate in person, at the Sochi Grand Prix, Victor has felt drawn to him, to the way his soul sings when he moves. To say nothing of his strength, his determination, his willingness to show love to those around him, the confidence he’s only recently let shine through… Everything about Yuuri makes Victor breathless. From the day Victor came to Hasetsu, Yuuri has felt like a miracle.

It takes everything in Victor’s power not to cry, in this moment.

“Yuuri,” he finally murmurs, utterly overwhelmed. “What… what is all this?”

Yuuri smiles, taking both his hands.

“It’s our wedding,” he says gently, and Victor’s heart leaps even as tears sting the corners of his eyes. Then, Yuuri’s smile slips a little. “Or, it is if you want it to be.”

Victor can't help but laugh at that. 

“Why wouldn’t I want it to be?”

He takes a deep breath to steady himself, looking around once more, letting the cold air of the venue burn in his lungs. It feels like he’s stepped directly into the pages of a fairytale, one of the happier ones; it’s like Yuuri has read his very soul and given him everything he didn’t know he wanted.

“Because I know you had plans,” Yuuri says, and as Victor looks back at his husband, he sees that worry has crept into his eyes. “A whole binder of ideas back at home. I knew how important this is to you, but I still…. I-I steamrolled you the first time, wouldn’t even let you talk about what you wanted, because I got too freaked out—”

“Yuuri,” Victor starts, concerned.

“Not about marrying you!” Yuuri waves his hands, like he always does when panicking. “About weddings. The thought of doing something traditional freaked me out, but then you were really upset, so this time I went through all this trouble but still didn’t just ask you what you wanted to do, and…”

“Yuuri,” Victor interrupts again, and squeezes his hands tightly. “This is perfect.”

Yuuri looks up, as though hesitant to believe him.

“R-really? You like it?”

Victor truly has no words for what Yuuri has concocted, so he can only beam at his husband, his eyes shining with pure love.

Because here is the truth about Victor’s “vision,” such as it was, for their wedding.

He’d been saving scraps, here and there, with decor or ideas that inspire him for years now, hiding them away in a box under his bed. Pictures torn from bridal catalogs, or words he’d scribbled in the middle of the night when he hadn’t been able to sleep. They were images he found particularly romantic, to inspire him for programs, or to fuel him when he had to flirt with the camera. It was only after Yuuri came into his life and they’d moved in together that his collection had taken on any sort of meaning, giving his pack rat tendencies any kind of real purpose.

So, when Victor came back to Russia, making a place in his home for Yuuri, he’d sorted through it all. He’d put all his ideas in a binder so he could pull it out at the right moment, when Yuuri would actually be open to a discussion.

But here was the problem: Victor had more ideas for their wedding than they could possibly have used in a dozen ceremonies.

And the worst part was that nothing had felt truly _right_. The hardest part, after all, had always been figuring out who he wanted to spend his life with. So once he’d figured that out, the other details had all seemed… nice, but inadequate, somehow. For how could he possibly sum up the way Yuuri had saved his life, rescued him from a dark place he hadn’t been willing to acknowledge, with a floral arrangement? What was be the perfect venue, the perfect theme, the perfect canape, the perfect outfit to celebrate the start of their new life together? Victor thinks back on the mass of magazine clippings he’s saved over the years, and nothing feels good enough. Not for him, and not for Yuuri.

So, no. Victor had had no clear vision of their wedding day; and left to his own devices, he could have been planning their perfect wedding for decades. He’d wanted something special, of course, but he’d been relying on Yuuri to help him sort through and figure out what would be right for both of them.

And somehow, Yuuri has figured out, on his own, something perfect for them both. Something better than Victor could ever have imagined.

Yuuri visibly relaxes at Victor’s words, returning Victor’s smile with one of his own.

“Perfect, huh?” he asks softly.

“Or, well,” Victor allows, looking around the room once more, “it’s almost perfect.” It turns out someone is missing after all, and his heart sinks slightly to realize it. “It would be better if Makka were here, and not all the way back home.”

“Oh! She’s here,” Yuuri says, shaking himself, and Victor’s heart lifts again. “The chapel’s just too cold for her; it isn’t safe. So they’re taking care of her back at the lodge.”

“I had to jailbreak her from the kennel,” Yuri Plisetsky calls from the back of the room. “You’re welcome.”

Yuuri truly has thought of everything. Overwhelmed, Victor takes him in his arms, hiding his face in his neck.

“I thought you didn’t want this,” he murmurs so that only Yuuri can hear. A tightness comes into his chest, his throat, at the words, and Yuuri must know, because he clings to Victor tightly.

“I don’t,” he hears his husband confess. “Not really. But you do, and that’s what matters.”

And Victor smiles widely, even as tears prickle the corners of his eyes, because Yuuri’s done it again: put Victor first, when Victor had all but resigned himself to being content with their non-wedding. And somehow, this — this intimate ceremony in a location full of romance and fantasy — feels like it takes the best parts of what they both had in mind for their wedding, giving them both something that will make them look back on this day in real happiness.

“I love you so much,” Victor says, his throat tight, and it somehow doesn’t feel like enough. He could say those words to Yuuri in every language he knows, every hour of their lives, and he doesn’t feel like it would be sufficient to express what he feels for this man.

“I love you too,” Yuuri says, and pulls back a little so he can fix Victor’s hair, stroke the backs of his fingers along his cheek. “Say, Vitenka.” He gives Victor a little mischievous smile. “Want to marry me again?”

Victor’s grin widens in response.

His answer will always be “yes”.

 

—

 

—

 

—

 

[A picture taken within the ice chapel and posted to Instagram; in the background, clearly visible, Victor has taken Yuuri’s face in his hands, kissing him deeply as Yuuri clings to him. In the foreground, Phichit is covering his mouth, clearly failing to hold back his tears.]

 

 **phichit+chu**  So blessed to be here. So proud of these two crazy kids. #snowvillage #silverandgold

 **atashinoyuuri** wait WHAT  
**vicchris4life**  WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THE WORLD  
**minami-k**  AHHHHHHHH so sad I couldn’t come! おめでとう ! !  
**seung-gillee**  grats @v_nikiforov @k_yuuri

 

—

 

[A shot of Victor in the entryway of the chapel, caught in a tender embrace between both Katsuki parents. Mari hovers nearby, grinning, while Yuuri makes an apologetic expression. Victor, on the other hand, is smiling broadly, his mouth resembling a heart, clinging to his newly minted in-laws.]

 

 **sukeota3sisters**  He is part of the family now! #silverandgold

 **theperezhilton**  hear that no one from Victor’s side of the family came. Confirm?  
**vityasgirl2005**  @theperezhilton Unlikely that they did, no? Victor hasn’t so much as mentioned his parents in an interview since he was in juniors. And didn’t he sue his mom for stealing from him?  
**yuri-plisetsky**  @theperezhilton @vityasgirl2005 get the fuck out of here you DICKS  
**yuri-plisetsky**  @theperezhilton @vityasgirl2005 the people that are important to Victor are here and that’s all that matters to anyone  
**yuri-plisetsky** @theperezhilton @vityasgirl2005 now get the fuck off this account before I report you both for abuse  
**otabek-altin** *clapping emoji*

 

—

 

[Our ice tiger has posted his own picture to Instagram: a selfie in which he poses with a snowy bas-relief of a lion, carved into a wall in the hotel’s ice restaurant. Otabek leans nearby, sunglasses lowered over his eyes, somehow still looking effortlessly cool even while bundled up in more layers than the kid from _A Christmas Story_.]

 

 **yuri-plisetsky**  Pretty cool hotel, but next time maybe these two could get married in a place that isn’t cold as balls? #silverandgold

 **otabek-altin**  don’t give them ideas for a third wedding  
**babamila**  Come back inside, kotyonok! The real party’s in the lodge!

 

—

 

[Their wedding reception is, in fact, taking place in a more conventional venue: the permanent structure of the hotel’s lodge, which includes a banquet hall. This particular Instagram photo is a shot of the dance floor, both grooms dancing what looks to be an energetic swing number. Yuuri has hoisted Victor into the air, holding him close about the waist; both are grinning widely at each other, flush with happiness and love. Victor’s toes are pointed, revealing that the heels of his dress shoes are decorated with golden soles; a closer look at Yuuri’s feet reveals the same.]

 

 **christophe-gc**  Ahh, I love love. #silverandgold

 **minako-okukawa**  So beautiful.  
**victuurifans** please post more pics chris we are dying of thirst  
**victuurifans** you and @phichit+chu are our only hope(s)  
**victuurifans** pls  
**victuurifans** @phichit+chu plssssssss

 

—

 

[The next post is a collage. On the left, an older photo of Victor and Yuuri dancing; Yuuri’s cheeks are flushed, his tie is loose, and he has dipped Victor low on the dance floor, both of them laughing. On the right, its mirror image: an image from the wedding reception, Victor and Yuuri in their wedding suits, Victor dipping Yuuri in a move reminiscent of their pair skate, their foreheads pressed together in tenderness and love.]

 

 **vk-nikiforov**  Fifteen months ago, I thought I had met the man of my dreams. Today, I know for certain that I have. Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, I love you with everything I have and everything I am. Please, はなれず に そば に いて . #silverandgold

 **bunchofchans**  oh my god you love him so much I’m actually tearing up  
**quadflipyou**  CONGRATS VICTOR FOLLOW ME PLS  
**sylphiel**  IG name change???? *eyes emoji*  
**kn-yuuri**  <3

 

—

 

[The last photo is more subdued than the others. This is outside the hotel, at night, the thick snow on the ground seeming to block out the outside world. Overhead, the clear night sky is streaked with blue and green and purple, the Northern Lights cutting across the stars in a magical spectacle. And underneath it all, clearly visible, are two dark figures, silhouetted against the sky. While their features are not fully visible, there is no mistaking who they are, or how deeply in love they are, as they kiss beneath the Northern Lights.]

 

 **kn-yuuri**  Worth it. #silverandgold @vk-nikiforov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! There are a few tidbits that either didn't make it into the fic proper or are my version of DVD commentary; here they are now.
> 
> \- The Ice Village near Kittila is a real place that I researched as extensively as I could, and now the cookies on my computer keep sending me ads for both Arctic vacations and wedding venues. I think it's technically in Lainio, but it really wasn't clear and I've never been to that part of the world, and the sites that advertise for the hotel are similarly unhelpful. But it looks lovely, and there are similar places in Norway and Sweden as well. My mental image of the event was inspired by [this image](https://www.travelweekly.com/uploadedImages/All_TW_Art/2016/082916/T0829ICECHAPEL_C_HR.jpg?origwidth=1540&origheight=866&origmode=crop&Anchor=MiddleCenter&width=780&height=440&scale=both&mode=crop) from Google.  
> \- Yuuri was, in fact, the one who rented out the honeymoon suite for after their actual wedding ceremony, to fulfill Victor's ice sex dreams. However, they were unable to follow through because it was so cold that, let's say, reality ensued?  
> \- Victor also absolutely has the right to plan their real honeymoon after Yuuri sprung two weddings on him. It was somewhere warm and they had a very good time, and that's all I've got for that.  
> \- About Victor's family: I didn't include much in here just because we simply don't have much canon info, and I felt like this wasn't really the right fic to explore what is probably a complicated story. However, the story about Victor suing his mom is not true in my version of events; just a nasty rumor. Cliff notes, his dad's out of the picture, his mom is really overbearing, they aren't close. His mom probably did flip shit about hearing about her son's wedding via Instagram, though.  
> \- The Japanese in Victor's Instagram caption is what I found on Google translate for "hanarezu ni soba ni ite," the Japanese title for _Stay Close to Me_. I don't know if it's right -- it's probably not -- but that's what I was meaning to do. If you know better, please let me know!  
> \- And yep, they both changed their Instagram usernames to reflect their hyphenated surname. 
> 
> If you have read this far, thank you! If you enjoyed this, I'd love to hear from you! :)


End file.
